


Forever and Always

by Jacquianne



Category: North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-01
Updated: 2007-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29109450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacquianne/pseuds/Jacquianne
Summary: Just picking up where the book left off...
Relationships: Margaret Hale & John Thornton
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Margaret Hale concentrated on her reflection in the train’s window, favouring her reflection to the landscape they were passing by. Not that Margaret needed to look in the mirror to see the smile which betrayed her happiness. But it had been a long, long time since she had been able to smile so completely and freely, and she enjoyed seeing it on her own face.

A wisp of hair floated in front of her eyes lazily. It must have escaped from its pin… Margaret thought as she reached up to push it distractedly from her eyes. Wait a minute – where’s my hat?

She thought a bit more. Oh no, she must have left it on the other train – with Henry. Oh well, he could keep it as a memento of her. The smile that was spreading over her face erupted into a chuckle as she thought of her hat, and of Henry. Concern and fear could not reach her. She was too happy to be going home to think of propriety.

She felt John turn towards her, his hand, which had been resting on her shoulder gently stroked her neck. “What is it Margaret?” He asked gently, his eyes not daring to believe the wonderful sight before him. Margaret – with him, going home with him, finally admitting her love. He could barely believe it.

“I was just thinking about my hat. What had become of it. And I concluded that I left it on the other train, with Henry. How foolish of me!” Margaret laughed at herself and John smiled. She continued; John’s mind was filled too much with thoughts of her beauty to think about expressing it in words. “Well he can keep it! I shall never go back there John. And I can always replace a hat!”

“Off with the old and on with the new,” John murmured absently. Words and sentences would not come to him just then, so caught up was he in amazement and wonder that this captivating creature beside him was his. After nearly four years of non- reciprocal love for her, the reality overwhelmed him. Clichés and idioms were all he could think of.

Margaret smiled back, a smile of true love. She felt his hand return to her shoulder, and she lifted her hand to his, moving even closer to him, slightly apprehensive. John gazed at her, still in awe that she was his. She bowed her head to hide her blushing cheeks, looking at the yellow roses that still lay in her lap. She felt John kiss her hair softly, and she felt a desire to kiss him again, quickly followed by an embarrassment at her admission of her feelings for him. Never had she actually thought about kissing a man. Before, at the station, that was different. John had kissed her, and she was too surprised and happy to have time for embarrassment. But now she had been with John a whole hour, an hour of happy reflections, looks and touching. An unspoken knowledge of what was going to happen.

Slowly she lifted her head to look at John, to gaze anew at his blue, blue eyes, to see the look of love he was giving to her, her alone. She could see that look of hers being reflected in his eyes, and for a few moments they just looked at each other, sitting so close, their hands clasped together, faces merely inches apart… John held her hand loosely, stroking her palm casually as they looked at each other. They were in a magical bubble, that no one could break. Margaret was aware of their close proximity, but instead of being conscious of this and worrying, it excited her to be so close to him, to feel his breath on her face. She lifted a hand and traced his face with her index finger, moving slowly as if discovering the contours of his chin for the first time. She realised rather than thought of moving her head closer, to touch his lips with her own. Tentatively her lips brushed his, and moved away quickly to try and slow the racing of her heart. She inclined her head again, and kissed him, this time longer, deeper, more confidently. Her hands reached up around his neck, and she felt his encircle her waist, and move up her back, holding her even closer.

A whistle reminded them of the train, and slowly, regretfully they moved away, both savouring the memory of their kiss. Margaret snuggled up to John, resting her head on his chest. John held her close to him contentedly, and they sat in companionable silence, each thinking their own thoughts.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hannah Thornton stood tall, still a formidable figure proudly stalking the streets of Milton. She might have been brought down in society’s eyes for the second time, but the matriarch of Marlborough Mills showed no sign of this knowledge.

Her skirts swished and swept around her, a terrifying vision of black which repelled more commoner folk on sight, scattering them like filings from a magnet. Her path was clear, and she walked it alone.

But for once Hannah Thornton did not notice the quick scampering of the workers who she had once reigned over, the whispers between the braver folk of her downfall and the occasional smirk. She was too angry. Angry with herself. Hannah Thornton, who, so much like her son, prided herself on her self control. Never show weakness or emotion to anyone, appear strong at all times. And what had she done just yesterday? She had been defeated by that headstrong girl – Miss Hale. Miss Hale! Who had caused her son nothing but heartache, and to add insult to injury now owned the mill. Their mill – his mill, her son’s mill. She remembered her bitter words to Miss Hale, and recognised them as her lashing out, angry and upset with losing the mill. But not just that. John had gone. Disappeared barely 3 days ago.

And she had hoped and wondered if he had gone to see her. As his landlady, Hannah Thornton knew this could be a possibility. But why hadn’t he told her? She tried not to think of that. But then Miss Hale had arrived, in Milton, to see John. And Hannah knew that he had not gone to see her. She had been angry with Miss Hale then – that the girl did not know or seem to care where John was. And all her pent-up emotion had been released before Miss Hale! Miss Hale, of all people! To think Miss Hale pitied her, Hannah Thornton!

Panic had overwhelmed her. John had gone – and he had not gone to the girl as she supposed. She felt a cold hand grip around her heart, filling her with icy dread. A sense of déjà vu wandered into her mind. Could John have…? No! Hannah Thornton inhaled sharply. To lose husband then son in that manner was not possible! John had always sworn he would not be like his father, that he would not do that. And Hannah, scared and worried about her and her family’s future, had sought comfort in her son’s words. From then on she had taught him and helped him to be strong, to be more like her than his father. Years of training she had given him, and over the years she had watched him turn into a man all of Milton was in awe of! A man who had raised himself from poverty, to be a respected man both in and out of Milton. But had all her years of training and moulding her son into the man he was worked? Or, when it came to the crunch, was he naturally his father’s son – a fault which no mother could correct?

Hannah Thornton’s mind was in a complicated whirl. Her thoughts went back to yesterday, when the girl had appeared, alone, in her mill. How proud she had been of John – he would look after her, he always had. And the girl had not argued, she had lain a hand on her arm in sympathy, like she knew John would not abandon his mother. Maybe the girl was finally realising the merits of her son – well she could realise! She was too late; John had gone.

Hannah Thornton completed her walk around Milton, and feeling the cold coming in, she went back to the Mill. The month’s lease would not expire for another three weeks and of that she was grateful. She could keep up appearances a little while longer.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The journey was long, and even the first class carriages were stuffy. Margaret found herself being rocked to sleep by the rhythm of the train and the warmth of carriage. But she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to savour everything about this journey, remember the lingering kisses they had shared forever, memorise the pattern on John’s waistcoat as she rested her head against him. To feel the soft touch of his hand encircling her in an unmistakeably possessive pose, or the tickly feel of his stubbly chin on her hair as he kissed her again.

She was content. She was warm, happy, and with the man she loved. They had many things to talk over, but they could wait. She felt safe and secure, finally comforted by the knowledge of his love for her, whispered to her over and over again by the train; thinking these pleasant thoughts she felt her eyelids fall over her starry eyes, rocked to sleep by the train’s lullaby.

John watched Margaret as she slept. It reminded him of another time he had watched her sleeping. In fact, he had seen her sleeping twice before. But neither of those times did he have the right to watch her, gaze upon her face, watch how delicately her parted lips let her breath softly, appreciate her beauty. The first time he had been to see Margaret’s father, Richard Hale. He thought suddenly of Mr Hale, remembering his sudden death in Oxford, the feeling of shock and horror. Then a pain slowly running through him, becoming more intense as the day of her departure loomed, the final twist of the knife on that day she had been claimed by her aunt. She had given him a book, one her father treasured greatly. The look in her eyes had haunted him constantly ever since. The last time he had seen her – and she was looking so helpless and desperate. Her usually pretty pink and white complexion had been ashen, her eyes standing out from her face, red from crying. The look she had given him when she had given him the book, a silent plea to save her, to help her stay in Milton. He had not recognised that look then, but how it had haunted him afterwards – and he had known, somehow, he had known.

His thoughts went back to Mr Hale, Margaret’s father. What would he think of this? John found himself thinking. I hope he is glad. He liked me as a friend, but would he have wanted me as a son in law? He adored his daughter, he would want her to happy, and I’m sure he would be very happy himself to know that his decision to move his family so far away from home had been mirrored now by his daughter. Maybe Richard Hale would finally free himself from the guilt of taking his family away from their home, if he could see the decision Margaret had made now.

He looked down at Margaret again, glad of another chance to gaze upon her beauty, without her realising, and without the need to talk. She lay against him, her eyelids covering her green eyes, her eyelashes long and dark against her skin. She was so beautiful. And in sleep, so innocent and pure. John smiled, that was not unlike how she was awake. But in sleep she seemed to have an added purity and innocence about her, a delicate look, the vulnerability as a woman showing when she slept, which usually she hid so well when awake. She still needed protecting. Her lips were parted in a smile, she was happy. She was happy to be protected by him. She was his at last.

His thoughts of protecting her made him think of the second time she had been asleep. Technically she had been unconscious then, her skin so pale with shock. He had carried her into the house; she had been dependent on him then. But she had tried to protect him first. Loyal Margaret – even when she could not realise or acknowledge her own love… For Margaret love had come too quickly. He knew she had not been ready then, at the young age she was, barely 20, and the resentment for the north still burned in her mind, barring all other feelings, fighting any feelings of attachment for anything associated with the north. And so she had reacted violently, scared of love and what it would mean, how it could shape her life. Perhaps it was a good thing that Margaret had been taken away. Away to the neutral place that was her aunt’s home. Neither North, in Milton, nor South, in Helstone. She had had the time and space she had needed to sort out her head and her heart. Time to work out what she missed – Helstone or Milton? Time to work out whose society she preferred – the variety of Milton or the prejudices of the south?

John kissed her hair thoughtfully. She had chosen Milton. She, who had fought so hard not to fall in love with Milton, had finally succumbed to her destiny. Not that the peaceful girl lying against him looked at all like the fiery, idealistic miss he had argued with on so many occasions. Well, looks could be deceiving.

And so could actions… John thought of his mother, her absolute conviction that Margaret’s actions the day of the riot could only mean one thing. John smiled – that day used to bring him pain, it was a day he blotted out; now it merely amused him. She was his now – the past didn’t matter. But maybe his mother had been right about Margaret – she did love him then, she just didn’t know it yet. How brave Margaret had been that day. But then, she was always brave. Even when it meant lying to a police officer to protect someone she loved, her brother, she was brave.

Her brother! She still didn’t know that he knew. John smiled, now he had her with him he could laugh over these past events. How foolish he had been, jumping to conclusions. And how utterly unfair her had been on Margaret. Accusing her of being unmaidenly. At the time it had been the easiest thing, he was still bitter and angry, hurt by her words. But he remembered how he had talked to the police officer and the witness, and stopped the inquest going ahead. For her, at a time when the thought of her brought only pain and anguish, he had saved her. And he had felt strangely free. She had saved him at the riot, and now he had saved her reputation. And it had meant that the two of them, their lives would be linked, she would have been wondering what he had done, and why he had done it. No, Margaret would not have been able to block all thoughts of him out. He knew her so well.

Margaret stirred beside him, and John came out of his reverie to watch her wake up. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open a few times, and her smile became wider as she saw him, remembering where she was.

“Hello!” She spoke, rather shyly, embarrassed at having gone to sleep. “Where are we? How near Milton are we?”

John kissed her forehead in response. “Sweetheart, we are nearly in Milton. We are nearly home.”


	2. Chapter 2

Margaret nodded happily. “Nearly home.” She repeated slowly, taking in the information. “It was only this morning I was here last.”

John raised an eyebrow inquiringly. Margaret smiled and laughed slightly. “But it seems like so much longer ago, so much further away.” She mused, a distant, far away look in her eyes. She turned her head suddenly towards the window, sitting up. Her tone changed, becoming more light-hearted. “I came to see you. But you weren’t there. And I was unhappy.” She finished sadly.

John stood up with Margaret, as they got ready to leave the train. “Was it then? Was it then that you knew?” His eyes bore into hers, reading her soul, his voice low and urgent.

Margaret was silent for a minute. “I don’t know…” She answered slowly. “I think – I think I realised that I knew then – but I think I had known it for longer, just not realised it. All I knew then was that I was unhappy. I realised I had been looking forward to seeing you. My surprise at how great my disappointment was told me. I knew then that I had looked forward to seeing you, even if I hadn’t admitted it to myself before. And then, at the station, when I saw you, the feeling I had in my heart confirmed what I had been learning all along. That I loved you, and only you, and always had.” Margaret paused for breath, the confession of love making her breathless.

John took her hand gently, pulling her towards him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. He could not speak, his throat felt too dry with love for her. He felt her wind her arms loosely around him, and felt her lay her head against him. For some moments they stood together, a silent embrace of unity.

“Milton! Milton-Northern!” A porter roared along the platform they had just pulled into. The train answered in cheerful confirmation with a loud blast of smoke as it stopped. The train jolted slightly, separating the lovers suddenly. John cleared his throat and picked up their bags, offering his other arm to Margaret. “Shall we go then Miss Hale?”

Willingly she took his arm, and allowed him to lead her out into the fading sunset of early evening. The red glow softly lit up their faces as she gazed at him adoringly, trusting him. They had stepped off the train, out into Milton, a couple facing the world together. They were home at last.


	3. Chapter 3

He glanced at her briefly, taking in her beauty again. All he wanted to do was to look at her, gaze in wonderment at her beauty and cultivate that feeling of immense happiness and satisfaction he had, just by the occasional glance sideways at her, the electric touch of her hand resting on his arm.

He led her slowly through Milton. Margaret gazed around her, noting how different the town looked in the evening. How the gentle red sun made the colours of the town shine shyly and sleepily, as the town slowly ground to a halt. People bustled around them, workers and fine ladies walking the same paths. The same sun reflecting on both kindly, bidding all goodnight. Men ambled happily homeward, their whistles harmonising gently with the strict high pitched tapping of the ladies’ shoes.

In London that would never have happened. The rich ladies, swathed generously in only the finest silks would have walked down Harley Street, far away from the ignorant whistling in the back streets. Those ladies, whose society she had joined for the few months she spent with Edith, would lift the skirts with slight indignation over the slightest dust, she would laugh at in private over, comparing them unfavourably to the likes of Hannah Thornton.

Hannah Thornton! That stern matriarch, who was wont to march arrogantly through her empire, her skirts swishing indiscriminately over both mill and house, threatening everyone who dared be critical of the son she adored.

But Margaret had seen another sign to Hannah Thornton. The desperately worried mother, powerless to prevent her son’s business failure and the woman who had snapped at her today. Margaret couldn’t help but smile a little – she had been successful in making Hannah Thornton lose her self control. Like mother like son. Both prided themselves stoically on their ability to keep control of all emotion. But she had seen the older woman lose it today, revealing a scared mother, filled with new apprehension as she realised another hope had been dashed, John had not gone to see Margaret. Margaret couldn’t help but smile at the irony – Hannah had endeavoured for the couple of years Miss Hale was in Milton to keep her son away from the girl, recognising the ability Miss Hale had to capture her son’s heart. But now! Now Hannah Thornton had been forced to hope that her son had gone to her.

Margaret came out of her reverie and glanced sideways at John. At that same moment John turned to look at her. Margaret blushed, caught in the act of looking at him. But John merely placed his hand on hers and smiled lovingly. They paused a moment in their walk, to share this sacred moment, the connection between their souls communicating by their eyes. “I love you.” Margaret whispered, trying not to disrupt the frisson, almost tangible between them. She cared not for propriety, or other people around her. She had to say it. And when John whispered it back to her, the spell was complete, and finished, it broke suddenly. They carried on walking.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Isn’t that your brother?” Watson peered into the distance towards the other end of the road.

“My dear Watson, you must be mistaken. Mother says John has gone from Milton – on some sort of holiday excursion I think.” Fanny Watson commented to her husband.  
“No, I’m sure… there he is! Walking with a pretty woman. I’m sure that’s Mr Thornton.” Watson gestured towards the couple, squinting low to see below the evening sun. “And… my goodness! The lady is hatless!”

Now he had his wife’s attention. Fanny Watson shielded her eyes with her gloved hand. She felt her heart begin to palpitate excitedly in her breast as she recognised the couple. “It’s Miss Hale! Quick Watson! Hail me a cab! I must go to see Mother at once!” Fanny exclaimed in a fluster, straightening her own hat, not taking her eyes off the happy couple as she disengaged her arm from her husbands’.

Watson, as usual doing as bid, hailed his wife a cab. She barely allowed him to help her into it before she shouted the crisp instruction to the driver. The faithful Watson watched in amusement as his wife gave the order. The driver cracked the whip, the carriage rolled forward. Fanny was going to see her mother.


	4. Chapter 4

“Mother! Mother!” Fanny’s girlish voice panted as she ran up the stairs towards the drawing room.

Alarmed, Mrs Thornton opened the door to her coming, rather than waiting for the maid. “Oh Mother!” Fanny exclaimed, collapsing out of breath onto her mother.

“Fanny? Fanny dear, what has happened? Is everything all right… Watson? Yourself?” Mrs Thornton was worried. Fanny had not been this excited for a long time.

“Oh yes Mother. I am quite well… when I’ve caught my breath I will be very well.” Fanny paused to gasp for air. “But I am so excited – John’s home! He’s coming to see you now!” She dropped her bombshell.

Mrs Thornton looked a mixture of blank puzzlement. “But… I don’t understand…” A slow feeling of relief came over her. John was safe. John was home – but how? Why?

“He’s brought a girl!” Fanny emphasised, hoping her mother would understand.

“John? Brought a girl? But – I – he’s a ruined man! Why now? I mean – I thought – ” For once Hannah Thornton didn’t have an answer.

Fanny laughed. She loved teasing her mother. It was all a little game to her. “But it wouldn’t matter if the girl was a rich heiress, would it mother? Then John would not be ruined.”

Mrs Thornton clicked her tongue in exasperation. “But we don’t know any rich heiresses! None that John… anyway…” Hannah couldn’t quite bear to say that John could love another, and leave her.

“Yes we do Mama!” Fanny argued.

A light dawned on Mrs Thornton and her face lit up with comprehension. “You don’t mean… Anne Latimer?” She spoke as if in disbelief.

Fanny let out a high pitched shriek of laughter which made her mother wince. “Nooo! Oh Mama!” Fanny could not keep her secret any longer. “Think Mama! Who is the one girl – ”

“No. No. No – Fanny – Not – ” Her face paled in amazement and shock as she at once new exactly which rich heiress her daughter was talking about.

“Oh yes Mother. Our John’s come home with Miss Hale.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John Thornton and Margaret Hale walked through Milton slowly, arm in arm. Margaret could barely believe it. How badly she had misjudged the man standing next to her! Her man. A surge of pride went through her as she beamed with happiness. He was her man. And she was his. She looked up and smiled at him, watching him in delight as he smiled back. He put his hand on top of hers where it rested on his arm, taking hold of her fingers in a way that sent shivers down her spine. She moved closer to him.

They had nearly reached Marlborough Mills. The sun had almost set on another day, and all around them the atmosphere was sleepy. People weren’t hurrying, the breeze was so gentle it could barely be felt, and Margaret and John wandered towards their home in a contented style that suited the laziness of the setting sun.

“Here we are darling. Home.” John whispered to his bride to be, opening the gate for her.

Margaret smiled. How she loved to hear his voice, and how she loved to hear him saying those words, which no other had ever, or would ever hear him saying. She revelled in her pride at knowing that she, and she alone, was the one he loved. “I love you.” She said simply, showing no sign of having heard what he was saying, only that he had spoken.

He was vaguely conscious that she probably hadn’t registered anything of what he had said, only that he had said it to her. He had lost count of the number of times she had responded with that phrase. Some men may find it annoying, he mused, to have a woman who didn’t seem to be listening to them, but John understood. They had plenty of time to talk and listen to each other later. Now, as he knew, the only thing that was important was that they loved each other.

John reached for Margaret, pulling her to him, thankful they were hidden by the open gate from view of people in the house, and kissed her. It was all the answer she needed.

Together, they went in to tell his mother their news.


	5. Chapter 5

Mrs Thornton sat in a daze as John began to tell her of his plans. His and Margaret Hale's plans. She could barely believe it, let alone comprehend what had happened, or indeed how it happened. The only aspect that she could grasp was Margaret's hatless appearance and she stared at the top of the girl's bare head.

"Well mother? What do you say?" John stopped.

Realising she was meant to speak, Mrs Thornton opened her mouth. "I think... Miss Hale, where is your hat?"

Miss Hale blushed accordingly. "I left it on a train, Mrs Thornton."

"Oh. I see."

John intervened. "But mother, the plans - what do you think?"

Margaret glanced from mother to son a couple of times and it suddenly dawned on her that Mrs Thornton had been so shocked by their joint appearance and Margaret's scandalous need of a hat that the lady had not understood or even listened to her son. She spoke up timidly. "John, I think your mother needs time to get used to this, after all, a daughter-in-law could not have been what she was expecting."

Mrs Thornton struggled to keep the look of horror from her face. "Miss Hale is right. I have to confess that I was not expecting news of this kind in the least." Her eyes fixed on Margaret, who again blushed uncomfortably.

"Mother, you may not like Margaret too well now, but once we are married you shall see for yourself what a wife she will be to me." He paused to look fondly at his betrothed. Mrs Thornton's face flickered in a slight frown. Yes John, we will see what sort of a wife she is to you... one that will be a rock around your neck! But she said nothing as John continued. "But I ask that you like her as well as you can like our benefactor, if you cannot think of her as a daughter."

Mrs Thornton sighed. "I am to wish you joy then. I hope you will be very happy together. Fanny?" She turned to her daughter, who had been admirably silent thus far.

"Oh yes Mama! John, Margaret - I may call you Margaret now, can I not, since we are to be sisters? - please accept my congratulations! My dear Margaret, how thrilled I am to have a sister. To think, I had despaired of you ever seeing my Indian wallpapers, but now I have the privilege of helping you choose your own!" Fanny trilled. "Now we shall all be one big happy family!"

Even Mrs Thornton could not help but cringe in embarrassment at her daughter's false effusions. It was no secret that neither of the Thornton women had warmed to Margaret whilst she lived in Milton, and Mrs Thornton felt ashamed of her daughter's two-faced character, knowing that Miss Hale would not be fooled.

Fanny left soon after, making her apologies far too grand to be believable that she must go 'to ready the house for my dear Watson'. To set fire to the rumour mill, no doubt was John's thought.

"I shall ask the servants to make up a guest bedroom for you Margaret where you shall stay before the wedding. I trust you have no preference?" Mrs Thornton sighed, the act of talking a laborious effort.

Margaret dutifully shook her head and replied that she had no preference and that it was good of Mrs Thornton to go to the trouble. Hannah Thornton left in a sweep of skirts, and the lovers were alone once more.

"She does not like me."

"She will."

Margaret raised her eyebrows. "Can you be so certain?"

"To be sure!" John replied confidently. "When she sees how much I love you, she cannot fail to love you too."

"John, it is seeing that you love me that is the reason for her dislike!"

"My mother is a reasonable woman. When she sees you in this house, as my wife, and sees your good character and the works you do, she cannot fail to like you on your own merit, regardless of my love for you." He drew her into his arms and kissed her forehead.

"I just hope that you are right, John."

The conversation, seeming to have reached a conclusion of sorts, stopped abruptly, and for awhile no more voices could be heard from the room, excepting the occasional girlish giggle and soft sighs. Some time later a knock made Margaret freeze in John's arms and she looked to her fiance in panic. "It is only a servant," John whispered. He released her and went to the door to speak to the maid as Margaret hurriedly straightened and re-buttoned her gown, stuffing the stray hair pins into her mouth while she did so. Once her gown was fixed, she drove the odd pin back into her hair and peered at the mirror, satisfied that, apart from the slightly messy up do her hair was in and her flushed cheeks and swollen lips she did not look too heavily petted. Of course, if it were Mrs Thornton I have to face she would not be so easily fooled Margaret thought with a grimace. She went to join John at the door.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes my dear, do not worry. Jane was just wishing to inform you that your room is ready, were you not Jane?"

The servant curtsied. "Yes sir. If you please Ma'am, your room is ready."

"Thank you Jane. I shall ask Mr Thornton to escort me to it shortly."

"Yes Ma'am." Jane curtsied and left.

Shutting the door behind him, John went to where Margaret was standing. "Now, where were we?" He murmured as he kissed her neck.

Margaret was not escorted to her room for quite some time...


End file.
